


Home Advantage

by Hekate1308



Series: Tales of the Thursdays [1]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, The Thursdays adopt Morse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 00:37:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19162243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308
Summary: Gwen sent him outside after he finished his homework. Or maybe it could more accurately have been said that she told him to “Get out already”.He would have liked to play with Joyce – he hadn’t even known he had a baby sister until he got sent to live with Dad – but Gwen didn’t like him to be around her. Morse couldn’t quite understand why, but he couldn’t understand many things when it came to Dad and Gwen. For example, he couldn’t understand why no matter how hard he tried, they never seemed to like him much, or why he wasn’t allowed to talk about Mum, or why they had had to move to Oxford in the first place.Morse made his way to the park. He had no idea that this decision would change his life.





	Home Advantage

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I have written this fic about four times now, but I don't care. I might turn this into a series - I am not sure yet. Enjoy!

Gwen sent him outside after he finished his homework. Or maybe it could more accurately have been said that she told him to “Get out already”.

He would have liked to play with Joyce – he hadn’t even known he had a baby sister until he got sent to live with Dad – but Gwen didn’t like him to be around her. Morse couldn’t quite understand why, but he couldn’t understand many things when it came to Dad and Gwen. For example, he couldn’t understand why no matter how hard he tried, they never seemed to like him much, or why he wasn’t allowed to talk about Mum, or why they had had to move to Oxford in the first place.

He walked slowly to the nearby park. If he’d had any friends, he might have gone to their place, but the boys in his school weren’t interested in the things he liked; and so he was clutching a book of Tennyson’s poems, one of the few things he’d been allowed to take with him when he’d had to leave home.

Thankfully, he found a shady place underneath a tree and soon got lost in the familiar words.

At least until he heard someone crying. He knew that Gwen would have told him not to bother, but this were clearly the sobs of a child in distress; and Mum had taught him to be responsible and helpful, so he carefully marked the page in his book and got up.

He didn’t have to look for very long; he almost immediately stumbled over a small boy who couldn’t be more than three years old at the most. “Are you alright?” he asked gently.

He looked up and sniffled. “I lost my mummy.”

“We should try and find her, then. What’s your name? Mine’s Morse.”

He frowned, forgetting his tears for the moment. “That’s a weird name.”

“Is it?” he feigned surprise. “It’s what I’m called, anyway.” By everyone except Mum. But he hadn’t minded when Mum called him Endeavour.

He swallowed done the knot that had suddenly appeared in his throat and repeated, “What’s your name?”

“Sam. Sam Thursday.”

He could have pointed out that Thursday was a strange name too, but didn’t. “Well then Sam, let’s see if we can find your Mum.” He held out his hand, and after careful deliberation, Sam took it.

They set out. Morse decided that he couldn’t have gone far, and indeed, after a few minutes, they heard a woman calling out Sam’s name more and more frantically.

He immediately tried to break free “Mum!”

Morse held unto his hand. “Now, now, Sam. Slow and steady. We don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself and scare your mum, do we?”

That calmed him down, although he was still skipping when they came up to his mother and a little girl a few years older than Sam. As soon as Morse saw the, he let go. They were clearly worried for Sam. And they looked nice enough.

“Mum!” the little boy rushed over and Morse smiled as she hugged him. Then he remembered Mum and the lump in his throat returned. He turned away, intent on going back to his book.

However, within a few paces, he was stopped by Sam calling out, “Morse!”

He turned back to see Sam running towards him, holding his mother’s hand. “Mum, that’s Morse. He helped me find you.,”

“It was nothing, really Mrs. Thursday” he said, somewhat embarrassed.

“Oh dear, it’s not nothing to me. You helped our Sam.” Her gaze wandered down his body and he winced as he realized that she must have seen that his trousers were a bit too short and his shirt rather threadbare these days. Gwen said he was growing anyway, so they might as well save the money.

“Really, it was nothing” he repeated for lack of anything else to say.

She smiled at him then, a warm, friendly smile that he remembered from Mum. “Would you like an ice? My treat.”

“You really don’t have to –“

“Oh, don’t worry about it. These two have been clamouring for one for an hour now.”

And so, she ended up buying him an ice despite his protests. After a short bout of her being apparently too embarrassed or shy to talk to him, the girl introduced herself as Joan and began chattering away. Morse didn’t mind. These days, barely anyone ever wanted to talk to him.

It was when she asked, “Why are you here all alone? Don’t you have friends to play with?” that Mrs. Thursday admonished her gently.

“Joan.”

“It’s alright, ma’am” he said, then turned to Joan. “I only recently moved here from Lincolnshire to live with my father and stepmother.”

Mrs. Thursday hummed at that while Joan, eyes wide, demanded, “Why?”

“Because… because…” he swallowed, then forced himself to say it. Not talking about it didn’t mean it didn’t happen; it just meant he wasn’t ready to honour Mum’s memory by talking about her. “My mum died.”

Joan’s face immediately morphed into one of sympathy, while Sam, who seemed to understand that this was a bd thing bit not quite what it entailed, moved closer to his mother.

Morse had to swallow again. It had been months, now; he was staring to forget how it felt to have a mother comfort him.

He was startled when a gentle hand wiped a few tears off his face. He hadn’t even realized he’d begun to cry. “There, there, dear. I’m sure wherever she is, she’s proud of you.”

He sniffled and, to his embarrassment, had to accept the handkerchief she offered him to clean his nose.

“How old are you?” Joan suddenly asked.

Glad for the distraction, he answered, “Twelve.”

She frowned. “How much older than me is that, Mum?”

“Seven years” Mrs. Thursday answered brightly, as opposed to Gwen, who didn’t like answering questions. Or maybe she just didn’t like answering _Morse’s_ questions. “And ten whole years older than Sam!”

Joan looked him over. “But you aren’t that tall.”

“I expect I will grow some more in the next few years” he answered, wondering how much longer Mrs. Thursday was willing to sit here, talking to him. Certainly, she had better things to do than entertain lonely boys?

“Certainly. Fred tells me he was on the short side for most of his teens.”

Morse assumed Fred was either her husband or another relative.

“Do you want to play tag?” Joan asked suddenly – it seemed she liked to surprise her conversation partners – and Morse glanced at Mrs. Thursday.

I don’t know if –“

“Oh, of course. You go ahead, have fun” she encouraged them.

And it was fun, more fun than he had in a long time. Granted, he had to move carefully slowly so that Sam had a chance of catching him, and Joan had a habit of cheating when she th0ouzght she could get away with it, but still.

It was one of the best afternoons he’d spent since…

When it was time for the Thursdays to go home, Morse felt pathetically sad about it. Mrs. Thursday was just a nice lady who had taken pity on him because he had helped her son. That was all.

But then, she surprised him by saying, “We are here quite often in the afternoon… when it’s nice outside.” Obviously, she wouldn’t mind if he joined them, so he nodded.

* * *

After that, he saw quite a bit of Mrs. Thursday and Joan and Sam. After he’d done his homework, which even Gwen had no choice but to allow him to do at a table, he often left the house to go to the park – as long as it was nice outside, that was – and most of the time, he met them there.

When he met them the first time, he hadn’t realized that they usually brought sandwiches with them to tidy them over until dinner. Gwen didn’t agree with Mrs. Thursday there; she felt that it was quite enough that he got breakfast and dinner at home; and so he did his best to hide his hunger.

It didn’t succeed. About two weeks after he’d met them – Joan was just busy explaining to him that for once she didn’t mind the tomatoes in her sandwich because they were the right shade of red – Mrs. Thursday handed him another one. “There you go.”

“I really – I really can’t –“ he stammered, staring at the sandwich in his hands.

“You’re a growing boy, Morse, you need to eat.”

It would have been rude not to accept the food from then on.

* * *

Usually, Joan and Sam took most of his attention, but now and then Mrs. Thursday asked questions, and he did his best to answer them.

For example, when Joan had wriggled the information that he had a little sister out of him and he had told her that he wasn’t supposed to play with her, Mrs. Thursday asked, “Why?”

“I assume because Gwen is worried I would hurt the baby, Mrs. Thursday.” She had eventually made him stop calling her _ma’am,_ but he drew the line at using her Christian name. It struck him as impolite.

“But why would she think that?” she asked, genuinely confused, and a tenderness he could remember from his talks with Mum swelled in his chest and made it difficult to speak.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you three just go and play” she said, “I can tell Joan and Sam are already waiting for you.”

And indeed they were standing nearby, bored expressions on their faces.

At another time, she asked about Dad and what he did for a living. He told her and was a little confused why she kept going on about the subject.

Still, it was something to spend most of his days with people who actually _wanted_ to see him.

* * *

It was a rainy day, so he couldn’t go to the park; and, as he had made a habit, he did his best to be as quiet as possible so Gwen wouldn’t remember that he existed and start chastising him for something.

When the door bell rang out, he hastened to open it nevertheless; he would have been told off if he hadn’t.

He had never seen the man standing on their doorstep before, but he did show him a badge that he decided upon careful consideration was real, so he led him to the kitchen. “Gwen, there’s a police man come to see you.”

She was fussing over Joyce. “Oh, please, sit down, officer.”

“Sergeant Thursday, ma’am.”

He frowned. Certainly, he couldn’t be –

“Don’t make such a face, it’ll get stuck. Make Sergeant Thursday a cup of tea.”

He automatically moved to obey her. Joyce gurgled at him. He smiled.

At least he could overhear what they were talking about as he made the tea. Apparently there had been a string of burglaries in the neighbourhood – strange, Morse hadn’t heard a thing about that even though he spent a lot of time outdoors – and so Sergeant Thursday had been sent to make sure their street was safe and well-informed.

It really shouldn’t have taken long enough for Morse to make the tea, but somehow, it did, and when he brought him his cup, he asked, “And who do we have here?”

“That’s Morse” Gwen said carelessly. “My husband’s son from his first marriage.”

“I see. So what do you like to do, Morse?”

“I like to read, sir” he replied, “And I do go on the park on a nice day…”

The sparkling eyes of Sergeant Thursday told him the truth. “I see. I assume –“

“Oh really Sergeant, don’t pay him that much attention, he’ll just start bragging again.”

Morse couldn’t remember having bragged in his life.

Sergeant Thursday frowned but got up. “I am sure he’d do nothing of the kind. Anyway, would you be kind enough to show me out, Morse?”

He did so.

Once they were alone, the sergeant’s voice dropped. “Win told me all about you. Just wanted to see if everything’s fine.”

“It is, sir” he answered and didn’t quite understand why Sergeant Thursday bid him adieu with such a pained expression on his face.

* * *

After that, Sergeant Thursday started accompanying his wife and children to the park on the weekends. Morse soon lost his shyness, although not his respect for him and his position, when talking to him; although, just like with Mrs. Thursday and _ma’am_ , he soon found that he wasn’t supposed to call him _sir_.

Joan and Sam were always glad to see him; Joan actually reminded him of Joyce during the few times he’d managed to sneak away and play with her.

Sergeant Thursday and Mrs. Thursday still quizzed him about his life now and then, but he didn’t mind. It was nice to feel that someone was actually interested in him.

* * *

When the summer ended, he did his best not to look too downcast. After all, he could hardly expect the Thursdays to take their children to the park when it got cold.

Instead of saying goodbye, however, the Thursdays gave him their address; he hesitated for about a week in September, but then he went there anyway, and it seemed like they had been expecting him, since Joan admonished him for not coming sooner and Mrs. Thursday had a sandwich for him.

It soon became a habit of his to go there directly after school. Mrs. Thursday always allowed him to do his homework at the kitchen table, and more often than not, she gave him tea and cookies as he worked.

* * *

Eventually, Mr. Thursday started now and then drawing him away from the kiddies to talk. Morse didn’t quite understand what he expected to hear, but he answered all his questions, and even got to ask some himself; he was very interested in police work.

* * *

When spring came, they resumed their meetings at the park, Morse usually going there without making the detour home. He could work on a bench as well as at Dad’s house. Mrs. Thursday had taken up the habit of checking his homework for him, although she insisted that it was “almost always perfect.”

* * *

It was when the pipes burst that things came to a head.

The summer had turned out to be rather cold and dreary, which meant he’d spent more time at the Thursdays’ then at the park, but he still enjoyed it. He had friends now, at least he liked to think so, and he had his books and a roof over his head, and it had to be enough.

And then the pipes burst.

At first Morse didn’t think much of it; Dad would get money from somewhere to fix it, he usually did; but then his bed turned clammy and uncomfortable, and he caught a cold.

At the end of a miserable week that he spent shivering and sneezing, feeling too ill to go to school or even to the park or the Thursdays’ house, Saturday finally dawned bright and sunny, and he forced himself to get up and go, albeit somewhat slower than he usually did. He didn’t want them to worry.

Sergeant and Mrs. Thursday frowned when they saw him, even as Joan and Sam hugged him.

“Morse? Are you alright?”

“Yes” he wheezed.

He had to take several breaks from their game of tag that day. He spent them explaining to their parents why he was ill, and that he was sure his cold would pass soon.

To his surprise, the Thursday insisted on accompanying him home.  

When the arrived there, he all but passed out on the sofa; later, he would be baffled that Gwen had raised no objection to him lying down.

And then it all became fragments and rather confusing impressions.

“Morse? We’ve called a cab.”

“See you tomorrow” he mumbled.

“No, Morse –“ And then warm arms gently picked him up and carried him away as if he was still a little boy.

There was the interior of the cab then, and he was rather sure someone was running their fingers through his hair. “He’s got a fever, Fred –“

“We’ll sort him out.”

* * *

Somehow, he ended up in a bed that was much more comfortable than he was used to.

A stranger’s voice. “I wouldn’t worry, Mrs. Thursday. He’s young and strong; a few days of bed rest and he’ll be right as rain –“

Sleep came, then.

* * *

Now and then, he became aware of someone moving around him.

“My teddy bear is going to make him feel better, I know it!”

“Alright Joanie, but be gentle – you know he’s ill –“

“Ah, I see Win’s taken good care of you. Fever’s down, too; you’ll be up and about again soon enough.”

One time, he felt a hand on his forehead, and it seemed very familiar… “Mum?”

A kiss being pressed on his head. “Yes, dear. Just go back to sleep.”

He did, even if he thought that, while he knew the voice, it hadn’t sounded much like Mum at all.

* * *

When he woke up properly, he felt much better, even if he was lying in an unfamiliar room. No, not unfamiliar; he’d been a few times, even if they usually spent most of their afternoons together in the living room. This was Sam’s room. Even if he was lying in a second bed next to his.

Mrs. Thursday came in soon after he’d opened his eyes. “Morse! How are you?”

“I am feeling much better, Mrs. Thursday.”

She surprised him into silence by kissing his forehead. “The fever’s broken, thank God.”

“You really didn’t have to –“ he began, starting to feel rather embarrassed about all the trouble they had gone to.

“Oh, hush. We offered your father to take care of you until your house is fixed up.”

He didn’t know what to say.

“I’ll bring you a cup of tea and something light to eat.” And then she ushered out and he was left to try and comprehend what had happened.

* * *

Life at the Thursdays’, once he was well enough to get up and about, was more orderly than life at Dad’s and Gwen’s house, but he would have surprised if it hadn’t been. Joan and Sam, while being a little confused as to how he had come to stay with them, were ecstatic to have him as a guest, and it soon became a habit for him to have tea with Sergeant and Mrs. Thursday after they had gone to bed.

Often, conversation turned to his schooling. Or rather, Sergeant Thursday asked politely if he could see his homework. Morse had done his best to catch up on everything he’d missed while he was being sick.

“Looks pretty advanced to me” he said, looking over his essay, and Morse bristled with pride although he politely replied, “I try my best, s- Mr. Thursday.”

He hummed. Mrs. Thursday was beaming at him though, so he figured all must be well.

* * *

A week after he’d been allowed to get up, and right before he returned to school, Mrs. Thursday took him shopping. When he realized, he tried to protest. “It’s really nothing – I am certain Gwen can mend some of Dad’s old shirts –“

“Morse, a growing boy needs more than a few old shirts” Mrs. Thursday said, perhaps a tad pointedly.

And that was how he ended up with a new wardrobe – and a record from Rosalind Calloway. Once she had got him to admit that he wanted it, Mrs. Thursday wouldn’t hear a thing against getting him a gift.

* * *

Morse wasn’t quite sure how much time was needed to fix pipes in a house, but after about three weeks, he started worrying that he was overstaying his welcome.

Mrs. Thursday wouldn’t hear of it, though. “Oh no Morse, we love having you here – and really I’d rather make certain that you won’t catch a cold again.”

Mr. Thursday was equally evasive when he asked, so he stopped. He liked it better at their place than at the house he was supposed to call home anyway. Even though he sometimes missed Joyce; but then, Joan and Sam were always happy to distract him.

Summer was slowly coming to a close when Morse returned from the park with them – he took it as a great sign of trust that they allowed him to watch over them all by himself, and was always careful not to let them out of his sight – and found Dad in the living room. Even though he should have been happy that he was about to return home, his heart sank. It had been nice, living with the Thursdays.

“Ah, there he is.” Dad got up. “Listen, son, me and Fred, we’ve been talking.”

An expression that Morse had come to associate with one of the kiddies saying a bad word crossed Mr. Thursday’s face.

“You see, they are mighty fond of you here, and you know money’s been tight…”

He nodded, looking down at his new shoes. Somehow, the Thursdays had to make due with a sergeant’s salary, and they had still found the money to get him nice things to wear.

“So I’ve been wondering if you’d perhaps like to stay a bit longer?”

Morse could have said many things. But as he looked at Dad, he realized he didn’t even think of him as Dad anymore. “I would very much like to stay” he heard himself reply. It was true. Mum had raised him to be honest. And he wanted to stay.

“Well, that’s it, then. We can sort out the formalities tomorrow, Fred; it’ll be my day off.”

It was most certainly not Mr. Thursday’s day off, Morse knew as much, but he didn’t raise any objection.

* * *

And that was how Morse ended up living permanently with the Thursdays. A few weeks after Dad had dropped by, Mr. Thursday told him it was “all official” now, everything had been “sorted out”. He would only learn the whole truth of the matter several years later, but really, why should he care how he ended up where he was when it made him so much happier than the place he had been living in before?

Joan and Sam squealed when Mr. Thursday explained to them that Morse was staying. “Now I get to tell everyone at school I have a big brother!” she shouted happily. She’d only just started and was still pretty enthusiastic about the whole experience.

Morse glanced at their parents, but they raised no objection. Sam, meanwhile, was hugging his hip as tightly as he could.

* * *

Time went on. Eventually, Morse found that it almost felt strange to recall that he had lived somewhere else after Mum passed away for a while; it simply seemed so natural to go home to the Thursdays’. Because, he realized, that _was_ the reason – it felt like home when Dad’s house never had.

He told Mrs. Thursday one day after he came home from school. At first, she turned away and he thought he’d said something wrong, but then she cleaned her nose and hugged him, so everything must have been alright.

* * *

At the end of October, Morse turned fourteen. He hadn’t really paid attention to the date; on his last birthday, Gwen had given him one of Dad’s old shirts that she had sewed a bit smaller. He’d grown out of it within two months.

The Thursdays, on the other hand, apparently had carefully marked down the day on their calendar, because when he came downstairs on the morning of his birthday, the first thing he saw was a cake.

He swallowed. “You really didn’t have to –“

“Of course we did” Mr Thursday said, ruffling his hair, and Mrs. Thursday drew him into a tight hug.

It was then and there that he decided that, if he ever found the courage to ask, and Mr. and Mrs. Thursday had nothing against it…

Well, truth be told, he had never much liked being a Morse since Mum died. Maybe he could try being a Thursday instead.


End file.
